


Know Your Place

by GraveTouched



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Casual Sex, Consensual Sex, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Light BDSM, Masturbation, NSFW, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Other, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29336799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraveTouched/pseuds/GraveTouched
Summary: The new Syndicate hire has complications on their first day of work, including a new lab mate who is less than thrilled to be sharing his space.An ongoing self indulgent NSFW fanfic featuring Dr. Alexander Maxwell "Caustic" Nox and various appearances by other Apex characters.AFAB nonbinary reader/OC - character is named in canon, but I try to mention it minimally. they/them pronouns. Written in 2nd person.
Relationships: Caustic | Alexander Nox/Original Character(s), Caustic | Alexander Nox/Reader, Caustic | Alexander Nox/You
Comments: 26
Kudos: 57





	1. The New Lab

You take a long sigh in discontentment at the current situation. Looking down at the electronic clipboard, you read over the email sent early this morning.

"Dr. Parker Barnes,  
We regret to inform you that your lab transfer request to the Paquette Wing of the Research Center has been denied, as it is currently at full capacity. Your work has been designated to the Blisk Eastern Wing. Your requested research supplies and PPE will be available for pickup in the main office.

Best Regards,  
United Syndicate Center of Science and Engineering Management"

_Great,_ you grimace. You'd been circling the Paquette Wing for the past, maybe, fifteen minutes, looking for your new office. Only when your mind wasn't overwhelmed by first-day anxiety, did it strike you to check your email.

It wasn't that the Blisk Wing was worlds apart from where you had originally planned to locate, but the Paquette Wing offers various perks like the main lobby having a supposedly fantastic view, faster access to medbay, and _just happening_ to be the lab locations of some of the other scientists involved in the Apex Games. You wouldn't necessarily call yourself a super fan, but meeting someone who both regularly experienced your work firsthand and could describe it in a thoughtful manner certainly appealed to you - excited you even.

As you trek your way to the main office, you pass by a number of secure-looking doors labelled with various names. Taking a slight pause over one in particular, you read over two nameplates: Natalie Paquette and Dr. Mary Somers. You frown, as you were previously certain you'd be sharing a lab with Wattson yourself since your research involved the games pretty closely. However, the recent addition of a scientist who was also a Legend must've taken priority in the higher-ups’ eyes. You find yourself at a standstill, lost in contemplation in front of the door - until it opens with an abrupt swing, knocking you backwards a little. 

"Ooh, real sorry, dearie! Wasn' expectin' ya there. Here, lemme give ya a wee pick me up." That voice sounded familiar, and you go to grab the hand of an apologetic looking woman with rather messy looking red hair pushed back behind a pair of goggles. "My, aren't you a pretty thing."

"No, it was my fault," you reply while brushing off your pants and blushing slightly at the unexpected compliment. "I wasn't paying nearly enough attention to my surroundings. First day."

"Ah, ye must be lookin fer the main office then. Sendin' ya on a goose chase for your stuff, I reckon?" she shakes her head sympathetically. "Had to do the same thing not too long ago, so ya got ma sympathies." She extends her hand for a shake. "Name's Mary Somers, but a lot a people call me _Horizon_ nowadays."

"Well met, and I know." You meet her handshake and smile "Although I'm new, it's hard _not_ to know at least a little bit about the Legends - especially working here."

"I s'pose that's true…" she spaces out for a moment before quickly bringing herself back to the conversation. "Anyway, I'd love to chomp the bit about science, but talk o' the games reminds me I got a pressin’ task at hand, so I must be goin'. But I'll see you 'round here again." A little wave, and she walks off at an urgent pace.

"Actually," you shout after her, "I'm operating in the Blisk East Wing! But maybe you can stop by sometime?" Horizon halts, doing a quick turnaround, and you see she has a polite smile mixed with discomfort as if she'd just stepped in something unpleasant. Maybe she didn't want to meet you again and was just being polite? She gives a quick thumbs up before resuming her power strut away.

_What was that about?_

______________________________________________________________________________

It took at least another hour to go through the necessary paperwork to acquire your equipment, and even longer finding a sizable cart to haul everything back to the Blisk Wing. After a series of doors, you reach one at the end of a hallway where the number sequence should end in your assigned room. _That can't be right._ You frown, looking at the two nameplates on the door: your name and the one above it - _Dr. Caustic._

You stare dumbfoundedly at the upper nameplate. _This has to be some sort of mistake._ You were acutely aware that Caustic’s public persona - no, probably just his personality - was notoriously morbid and unsociable, if not downright unsavory. Doubtful that someone like him would appreciate or allow a stranger barging into his personal space. You get a sinking feeling in your gut that makes your limbs feel heavy; you already weren't great at meeting new people.  
Taking a moment to compose yourself, you push away the oppressive feeling anchoring you in place and open the door. Sitting with his back towards you, a broad shouldered man in a lab coat with swept back brown hair jots down something in front of him. He turns around and gives you a look over as you stand in the doorway. His deathly glare is no different in person than advertised, save the current absence of the bulky respirator he wears during games. 

"I didn't order any of that," he speaks first, gesturing to the large equipment cart behind you before turning to his work again. "You may leave." It sounded more like an order than a courtesy.  
Regardless of having heard it before over broadcast, his deep, gravelly voice sent a slight shiver down your spine when it was directed at you. You couldn't tell if he was purposefully trying to sound intimidating, but it certainly had an effect. 

"Excuse me!" you piped up in a somewhat embarrassingly higher voice than usual. You proceed to make a bit of a racket as you wheel your cart in. He looked back again, rather annoyed by the further interruption. "I-I'm actually your new lab mate starting today. Not that we're working on the same things, but just that we're, ah, sharing a space…" 

To your surprise and horror, he gets up from his chair, doing a slow walk over to where you stand. He’s taller than you expected; the sway of his movement and your size difference reminds you of a predator encircling its prey before the impending kill. You freeze up and feel your heartbeat rapidly accelerate; your face flushes with heat as your eyes follow his pacing. He strides past you, his continued movement only indicated by the soft _clank clank_ of heavy boots on metal flooring. You catch the smallest smirk on his lips as he passes into your peripheral view, obviously noticing your reaction to his presence.  
Seconds pass before you dare to steal a glance backwards. He’s thoughtfully looking over the cart of equipment behind you, occasionally leaning in to take a closer look at something that’s caught his interest. You fidget in place, too nervous to break from your current position.

“S-so…Doctor…” you look at him expectantly.  
“You may call me _Dr. Caustic._ ” His voice is low, but firm.  
“I hope we’re able to get along. It’s nice to finally meet a fellow scientist equally invested in the macabre!” He raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. “That is…! Ah, my research…” you quickly grab for a stray notebook tucked away in your equipment and flip it open. “I study how you die. Well, not _you_ specifically, but the ‘deaths’ in the Apex Games. Psychology, physiology, how to simulate it…Actually, I was wondering if you--”

You’re abruptly cut off by a large gloved hand cupping your mandible, pushing your cheeks and lips together. You drop the notebook.

“Dr... Barnes, was it?” You nod, wide eyed. “While I must confess: your... subject matter intrigues me. Make no mistake that this fact does not invite lengthy conversation.” He pauses, letting that last sentence sink in. “The death I am first and foremost concerned with is the hard-earned result of _my own_ scientific efforts. It would behoove you to remember that.” His words hung in the air, conjuring vivid images of competitors’ faces, twisted in desperation and gasping for air in vain as poisonous fumes encircled them. You give a small understanding nod within his grip. With your silent confirmation, his hand falls and he returns to his desk. 

You don’t speak with Caustic for the rest of the day. You take time to carefully set up and take inventory of your lab equipment, and he silently works at his own desk until late into the evening. You notice when he starts to gather his materials, and begin to call out as he leaves.

“Goodnight Dr.Cau--” the heavy metal door slams shut, no doubt on purpose. _Well that went... expectedly._

Your mind wanders as you travel home, making your way through fairly empty streets. Your new apartment is another perk for working in the Syndicate - located fairly close to work, decently sized, with updated amenities and low rent.  
_What kind of place does Dr. Caustic live in?_ Would it be horribly disorganized? Inhospitably sterile? Seeking a point of reference, you try to think back to his side of the office, but your memory of it is hazy. Instead, you picture his large frame next to yours, and his hand gripping your face as he utters a stern warning. A sudden heat rises in your chest and quickly spreads to your face. A hot mix of embarrassment, shame, and sick _enjoyment_ overwhelms you, thinking about Caustic’s cold and rough demeanor from today. You hurry the rest of the way home, avoiding thinking too deeply about what this could mean for your work environment.


	2. The Rabbit's Cries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your most recent work task involves observing footage of game kills. You decide to make it into something of a movie night since you have the lab to yourself. Things get intense during the assignment. (NSFW chapter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sexually NSFW.  
> Additional warning for dark themes + violence.

A few weeks have passed since you first started your new job at the United Syndicate Center. So far, things haven’t been terribly exciting like you were expecting, and there was certainly no field research yet. Instead, piles of documents have been overtaking your area - lots of data analyzing that your predecessors seem to have conveniently neglected. Statistics like brain waves, vitals, all taken post-match. Although you dedicate yourself to your work, you sigh thinking about the potential discoveries you could be making if you weren’t preoccupied with tedious paperwork. And you couldn’t even gaze outside longingly: due to the nature of your lab mate’s work, the room offered no windows, but a rather expensive looking AC/ventilation unit.

You haven’t made much progress with Caustic either. You busied yourself with work to avoid another incident, feeling that you made a bad impression when you first met. And he didn’t exactly bother going out of his way to make conversation either. Additionally, he was scheduled for a match every other week, so you could pretty much count on his absence from the lab on those days. 

_Damn,_ now you remember... you did sort of interact the other week. It had been the day after the first match since you’d been operating in this lab. Caustic had come in to work pretty pleased with himself: apparently he’d maintained Kill Leader status the entirety of the match _and_ gotten a clutch win in a 2-v-1 after both his teammates had fallen to the previous ring. You weren’t sure of the exact details, but you caught the gist of it on your way to the lab from passerby conversations.

“Ah, Dr. Barnes, I trust you found my performance yesterday _particularly enlightening?_ Something for your studies, perhaps.” _Was he... bragging?_ You shook your head.

“Sorry, I was so swamped with all of this,” you gesture to several thick packets of charts before you, “I didn’t even have time to watch a highlights recording. Passed out as soon as I got home.” you shrugged. His mouth turned from what could’ve been considered his version of a smile to a frown.  
“Very well then. As you were.” 

Since then, he hasn’t made an attempt to speak with you, and while you regret not congratulating him on his victory, his typical sour attitude doesn’t compel you to push your luck any further. The day before the next match, you notice Caustic tending to his gas traps and gear, his hands gracing over them and carefully making adjustments. His movements are precise, surgeon-like even, so contrasted to how rough he’d treated you previously... A blush burns into your cheeks from suddenly remembering that, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat. After a couple hours of data analysing, you decide to take a break to check your email for any new assignments. The holoscreen in front of you switches from complicated graphs to the UI of the Syndicate’s messaging program reserved for higher confidential information.

“Ah!” you gasp. You did, in fact, have a new task to do. Your eyes scan over the message once again, and you hesitantly move to click and download the attached files. _Now this could be fun._ Glancing over your shoulder, Caustic didn’t seem to react to your small outburst of surprise. You hastily grab a pair of headphones next to the monitor and reconfigure your sound settings, ensuring you won’t disrupt your lab mate. You thrum your fingers impatiently on the desk and run a bit more data as you wait, until a blinking _Download Complete_ notification projects from the screen.

You motion your hand to select the new title in the file directory: _AG Finisher Compilation Seasons 120+_. The monitor goes black before flickering to life once again; the first thing you see is Makoa Gibraltar’s large, hulking body unceremoniously backfall and crush his opponent, before getting up and laughing about it. You let out a loud snort, immediately covering your face to suppress your laughter.  
During live broadcasts of the games, only a few finisher moments are shown per match, most likely to keep up with its rapid pace. Still, fans went wild for these sort of intimate peeks at the action. You could certainly relate - after all, why watch a blood sport if not for this exact type of thrill? Of course, some of the Legends were fan favorites, and people cheered for the showmanship of it. 

Remembering your task, you pull out a notebook from a desk drawer and log your thoughts about the scenario. _Put yourself in each position: the killer, the victim, and the spectator, and record your responses._ The idea was to gain insight from each party, record that data, and use it to create a more accurate, but exciting, death experience. Watching footage secondhand like this was part one in a series of tests you’d be conducting on the topic. You watch a few more, finding it far more preferable to doing paperwork. Some of the clips are more grandstanding than others, which keeps the mood light, but you freeze when a familiar dark figure appears. He makes slow, dreadful paces towards the camera, followed by a hard _TWACK_ , sending the opponent to the ground.

You pause the video and look over to Caustic, unassumingly sitting across the room and looking intently at the swirling contents of an Erlenmeyer flask, with no idea that you just watched a video of him killing someone. Comparing both of your research goals, you suppose there’s little difference between the morbidity of intending to kill others with noxious fumes versus attempting to make someone truly feel like they’re experiencing death, potentially in a continuous loop.  
You catch a lingering hint of chemical odor making its way to your side of the lab; it has a thick, coppery scent with smokey notes that seemed to fill your mouth. Your stomach clenches with a sick curiosity as you wonder if, in the games, the people who died from poison inhalation were overwhelmed by that same scent. 

A loud cough from Caustic snaps you back to your senses. Every so often, he’ll have a small bout, but they’re never so violent sounding, so it draws your concern. However, your eyes clearly meet with his, and you realize you’d been staring at him for some time now. You swivel around in your seat, quickly minimizing the video. Moments later, your headphones are taken off, and the back of your chair is turned around forcefully. Caustic’s hand firmly holds your seat in place, his arm settled just above your shoulder.

“Now, doctor… it’s impolite to stare.” His other hand reaches towards the holoscreen, swiping to re-open the window. A digital version of him hunches over the first-person camera mockingly. “And I find it _peculiar_ that you would observe me here as well.” he says, tapping at the interface. You found it hard to meet his piercing gaze, but you could feel the vibrant greens of his eyes fixated on your less-than-composed expression.

“You-!” you blurt out, finally looking at him. He cocks his head slightly. “I mean, you’re the one who goes out and does... _that_ for everyone to see. I’m- I’m just doing my job.” your initial boldness shrinks away at the end of your sentence. 

He leans closer to the screen, making a motion with his free hand that rewinds the clip. As the kill plays out again, he hums thoughtfully as he watches, too close in proximity.  
“I suppose I share your fascination in observing something die. To kill… to command death… It is the truest test. The accumulation of my research.” His voice barely surpasses a whisper, and the softness of it in contrast to the morbid content of his words electrifies you. He releases his tight grip on the chair and steps away to his own desk, leaving you to weakly exhale a breath that had been caught in your chest. 

Caustic leaves early in the evening. You look as he gathers his equipment for tomorrow’s match, making his way for the door. Just before exiting, however, he turns to look at you.  
“I hypothesize tomorrow’s experiments will prove _satisfactory_ … for the both of us.” He leaves, closing the door before you can question him.

You decide to forego watching any more clips, instead trying to finish up running the remainder of vitals data. There wasn’t a deadline per se for the video assignment, but tomorrow might be a good day to binge watch some of it. While it was technically your day off, it could be fun to make a movie night of sorts out of it. You fondly recall your university days, when you’d set up a makeshift cozy living space in your independent study lab to prepare for big tests or presentations. Besides, you have the lab to yourself tomorrow, and your apartment doesn’t have a huge TV, whereas the main office definitely has a projector that you could borrow.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

You decide to bring a small assortment of comfort items to the lab for your day off - blankets, an oversized Nessie-themed pillow, snacks. You arrive at the center late in the day, and the lobby and halls are a buzz with excited conversation surrounding the games. 

_"I've got some money on today's match."_

_"Sure the guy's good looking, but don't you think he's a bit… you know…"_

_"I'm cheering for Ms. Paquette of course."_

_"Apparently we're supposed to be getting a new Legend soon."_

You catch small blurbs of water cooler talk as you enter the main office, going to rent a projector. You check out one with a remote device that's able to pick up the live game, remembering your lab mate's advice to watch his performance. 

_"...tomorrow's experiments will prove...satisfactory…"_ you shake your head, feeling a warm blush on your face. Caustic's words echoed in your memory, and they sounded a bit perverse, to be honest. But you highly doubt it was anything different than his typical eerie tone. The din of other people lets you forget about it, but the noise grows less and less present, then altogether silent as you traverse back to your lab.  
There weren't many people about in the Blisk Wing, and you wonder if that's why Dr. Caustic is located there in the first place. 

You toss together the small nest that you’ll be situated in for the evening, and connect the projector to your computer. Contentedly plopping down on your arrangement of blankets, you click the remote to start the video play. You jump when the first image you see is Caustic, looking down at your perspective. _Shit_ , the media player continued from the point you left off on yesterday, and your heart wasn’t expecting that. The player blips into a death box and you could hear a hoarse chuckle from under his mask. 

_“It's simple, really.”_ he coughs. _“I'm just better than you.”_ His condescending words are barely audible, but your thighs squeeze together in discomfort and your gut twists at their delivery. You falter, then feel a pang of shame when you realize that you had dirty thoughts in response to something so… embarrassing, and muttered by your colleague, no less. 

You continue watching as the next scene plays, half hoping it’s not another Caustic clip. Relief, coupled with slight concern at that relief, washes over you when the camera switches to a particularly gruesome stabbing involving Bloodhound and their unfortunate prey. A hand instinctively falls to your side where the knife plunges into their torso, but you smile from the gory excitement of it, in a similar fashion one might experience when watching a horror movie.  
You watch a few more clips. Surprisingly, Pathfinder has quite a few, which seems unexpected for his rather jovial persona. Still, the animated MRVN unit is technically considered a veteran competitor. _Even someone like that can kill, huh?_

You notice the time on the screen interface and grab the remote to switch to the live feed. The dropship has begun its descent on Olympus, and teams have just been assigned. You see Caustic’s portrait alongside Pathfinder and Octane’s. From a technical standpoint, it’s not a bad match, but could be difficult for him since the other teammates focus on mobility. Thinking about it, his stoic nature and body mass doesn’t really match up with the type of person you imagine running and zip-lining across a battlefield. You can imagine him saying something to the effect of:  
_“Simply the means to a gruesome end. What is mankind built on, if not sacrifice?”_ you nod sagely; your mental impersonation isn’t half bad. 

The first few minutes go by uneventfully, save for the initial landing fights. The circle was enclosing on a trio of towers indicated as _Bonsai Plaza_ by large letters that shone on a tall, glowing screen built into the side of the lavish looking building. As teams continued to push in, the inevitable eliminations followed. Over half the players had fallen now, and Caustic had done particularly well this match. Since the circle had been favoring their location, he was able to set up a series of traps in a sort of budget recon style, which allowed his more lively teammates to rush the locations where they were popped.  
You weren’t certain, but it felt like he was doing more “hands on” research today. The rest of the team seems content to down their opponents in threes, but Caustic was showing no mercy to the helpless, unlucky individuals who crossed his path. You find yourself paying close attention to his actions throughout the match, admiring the unwithheld cruelty of his blows. 

With each elimination by his hand, your imagination wanders. _What does it feel like, to exist and struggle, only to be extinguished?_ Your body feels hotter; you slough off the blankets surrounding you, hoping to escape the oppressive heat. The faint purr of machinery and noise of the match rings in your ears, sounding farther away as your mind fogs. Your hands reach down to your lap, fingers digging into your thighs. It’s been quite some time since you’ve felt like this.  
Suddenly, you perk up at the distinct noise of a gas trap reaction. Mere seconds of exchanged gunfire later, and a red notification flashes across the screen. _Team Eliminated: Pathfinder, Octane, Caustic._ A barrage of celebratory shots are heard as a woman’s voice announces the Champion team. You blink in surprise, pulled out of your fantasy. 

_…_

You busy yourself to create some distance from your momentary lapse by doing some video editing work: cutting and saving copies of each kill, then organizing them by Legend. You purposefully avoid watching Caustic’s too closely, instead skipping ahead and and cutting off the video just before the next clip. A small visual notification appears at the bottom of the interface, and you open it, choking at the attached media file. It’s the finishers from today’s match.  
You nervously load and open it in the media player. Your breath catches as the first thing you see is Caustic taking a firm step towards his target, hunching over to grab them roughly by the shoulder. They hopelessly try to pull away, but the effort is wasted. He gives a firm _yank_ , holding them in place while his other hand moves to push down a nozzle at his chest, causing a plume of gas to shoot directly into their airway. 

A stifled moan escapes your mouth before you realize it. Watching someone suffer like that... you grip at your throat in empathy, but you’re acutely aware of emotions besides fear being drawn out of you. The strength he displayed looks so _purposeful,_ filled with a ferocity that causes your muscles to tense up. You recollect the aroma of his chemicals, metallic and burning and heavy. Being thrown around like that, fighting to breathe as every one of your senses gets taken over, and a rough voice speaks to you condescendingly all the while… _How must it feel to be overwhelmed so completely?_  
Your body feels _needy._ Your legs rub together, and your fist absentmindedly moves to press hard against the material of your pants at your crotch. The next clip plays, and your silent wish is fulfilled - it’s him again. In a blocked off room, he picks his opponent up, observing them with a nonchalant expression behind his mask before violently _SLAMMING_ them into a nearby trap. Your other hand grabs and kneads at your chest as another hoarse moan comes out. 

The video has switched, but it hardly matters. You close your eyes, picturing Caustic’s gloved hands grabbing at you. You want to feel the murderous intent that drives him, becoming the sole subject of his passion. Undoing your pants, your hand hastily moves down to the material of your underwear, and you feel a generous wet spot has already formed. You rub harder with a desperate clumsiness that you know he wouldn’t have, feeling _damn guilty_ for having these urges, but the desire to get off overpowers your logic and shame.  
You imagine getting thrown to the ground and held there, having him whisper taunts in your ear. You sink two fingers inside of yourself, and your hot insides clench around them. You rock back and forth, thinking of Caustic’s bright green eyes observing you as you writhe underneath him. You pant from the attention, and make no effort to conceal the soft cries and expletives that fall from your lips. You’re _fucking close,_ you just need that little push to finally cum. 

You look up to the projection, looking for some sort of visual stimulation. The hand at your chest jerks forward to fast forward to something related to him as you attempt to continue clinging to your current high. What feels like hours passes before - there. He stands above his opponent with a terrible light in his eyes that fills you with longing and disgust, for you can guess what comes next. He lurches over, landing several hard blows, each splattering blood onto his visage. The sickening _CRACK_ of bone under fist unravels something in you, sending shocks through your core as you look at his expression, twisted with a similar satisfaction to yours under his mask.  
You cry out as you ride the wave of your orgasm, pathetic moans interrupted by short, broken sobs. Your frame shudders as you finally come down, and you sit in silence for a bit. 

Outside the lab, a figure stands behind its door, tucked away in the shadows. Watching your little...display proved to be quite the worthwhile endeavor. Caustic smiles, making sure to speak under his breath, to not alert you of his presence.  
_“Remarkable… simply remarkable.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... this chapter ended up being longer and slightly darker than I had originally planned. I hope everyone is OK with something of this length for a single entry, or if I should split it into parts in the future.


	3. Just a Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions rise when Caustic hits a losing streak in the arena, and his bad mood casts a dark cloud over the lab. Your arrival at MedBay sets something off. (NSFW chapter)

About two months go by without incident since your secret “experiment” that night in the lab. You’ve been able to document responses to the biweekly video content sent your way. Teams and participant killings have been evening out and more people are dying to simple gunfire rather than finishers, so part of your timely work progress comes from that too. Unfortunately, clips containing your favorite subject have been lessening as a result. Regardless, while more restrained than the first time, you’re still able to... _enjoy_ those particular highlights on your own. The days following your activities, though, you have a difficult time looking at your lab mate. Perhaps Caustic notices your hesitancy, but he’s polite (or, more likely, unbothered) enough to not mention it.

You find, however, that your lab mate seems rather preoccupied lately, grumbling under his breath and pacing more than usual. The past few games, his survival time in the arena has gradually lessened, and you fear getting on his nerves will only worsen his already dark attitude. He spends more time adjusting his chemicals now more than you’ve ever seen before. Today in particular, just one day before a match, he seems to be all-consumed with his work. Muttering to himself, the scientist argues back and forth before hastily scrawling out a sequence of chemical formulas on a large whiteboard.  
A peculiar-looking spider scuttles about inside a closed container on his desk. Caustic looks over the content of several test tubes, then grimaces, obviously disappointed with the results. He erases some diagrams from the board, and grabs a pair of tongs from an instrument drawer. To your alarm, he flings the spider into a large glass container filled with a luminescent solution and closes the lid. It twitches violently before curling in on itself and dying. The liquid seems to react, and he makes a note of that. _Definitely shouldn’t bother him right now._

…

Fumes waft across the room occasionally, and their potency causes your eyes to water and lungs to burn. You cough sharply a few times, and jump when a loud BANG sounds behind you. You spin around, and Caustic’s fist is tightly clenched against the table.  
He slowly turns to look at you, and you start up from your seat, ready to bound out the door. You step a few paces before a hand grabs you by the shoulder, causing you to do a prompt one-eighty in place. You look up to Caustic’s face leering down at you, and flinch instinctively.

“Doctor, excus-!” you begin.  
_“Here.”_ He shoves something at you. You look down to the item in your hands - goggles and a respirator matching his own. “Do not say that I have never done anything for you,” he growled. Well, you certainly couldn’t argue there.  
He moves to return to his desk, pausing for a moment to look back at you. “This is not an act of sympathy - you’ll find no such thing here. Our scientific goals align, and for you to meet your death in such a manner… would be a waste. That is all.” He coughs, then walks off.

Despite the diction that he used, you blush, feeling flattered at his comment concerning your usefulness. You strap the mask onto your face, finally breathing easily. Looking at his desk, a variety of flasks and bottles are laid out, their contents glow in eerie fluorescent yellows and greens not dissimilar to their owner’s eye color. Subtly twisting clouds of smoke pour from the tops of the glassware. Various machines whirr quietly next to them, and you notice a couple of surprisingly well-kept potted plants sitting among the labelled barrels and gas canisters stacked upon the rather utilitarian looking shelving. Compared to your own desk, it’s much more interesting, if not volatile.  
You regret not properly thanking the Doctor for the respirator before he left for the evening, but you’re thankful to have the lab to yourself finally, even if just for a moment to relax from the tense mood of today. You turn off the lights, getting ready to go, and a _ping_ goes off on your phone. A… work message? You curiously open it up.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________

The next day, you get up early to prep the materials for your new assignment. That, and you want to spend some extra time getting ready. This is the first time you’re getting to interact with people - truly studying them - in some time, at least since your last tenure on Psamathe. Despite hoping so, you didn’t think that you would come into contact with the Legends so soon. But that morning, you make your way to the drop ship terminal. 

You begin by calling individual participants into a room to take their vitals. You weren’t expected to interview everyone in one go - today was meant to be a sort of adjustment period to become familiar with the rather strong personalities of some of the competitors.  
“Bloodhound?” you say quizzically. While you know Legends’ full names didn’t have to be publicly known, you expected the Syndicate to have a bit more information on the people they allow to kill for sport. No legal name is listed on the chart for Bloodhound, but paging through the rest of the entries again, that isn’t the case for everyone. It seems those without full names are entered first.  
A hand is placed on your shoulder, and you jump, letting out a yelp of surprise.  
“Minn apologies, doctor.” The masked figure behind you gives a small nod. Your first patient. You put your hand over your heart to greet them as a returning gesture.  
“If you would follow me then.” You smile politely, reaching for the door. They follow you in, taking a place just behind the door after it shuts.  
“You may sit, if you’d like,” you say, noticing them standing.  
“Fine like this.” They shrug, and you decide to leave the matter be. You take Bloodhound’s vitals, and they respond very minimally, only moving and adjusting when prompted. The appointment goes by unremarkably for the most part. You almost feel bad for not having a warmer bedside manner, but they seem untroubled by the lack of small talk.  
“That should be it, thank you. After the match, I have some questions for you to answer concerning your experiences.” They nod, giving a small salute before leaving, and you look to your clipboard. Your face pales slightly. 

“...Caustic?” you call out, and sure enough, he approaches. You weren’t used to seeing him in his gear in person; you must’ve relayed this surprise in your expression because he responds first.  
“Dr. Barnes. A surprise to see you here.” You wait for more, but nothing comes. He isn’t a man of pleasantries, after all.  
“Right. This way then.” You usher him into the private examination room. “You know, I was expecting...well, a different name, truthfully.”  
_“‘Dr. Caustic’_ will suffice. Above all, I am a man of science.” You blink.  
“Do you not have any...other names then? A first or last name?”  
_“That,”_ he says shortly, “is a skeleton best kept buried.” His tone instantly turns cold, and you catch the hint to not pry further. You take the rest of his vitals in silence.

“Thank you for your patience, Caus- Er, Dr. Caustic,” you correct yourself. “Oh, and good luck today in today’s match. I’m looking forward to the results.” You smile, genuinely (and somewhat selfishly) hoping for his success. He gives you a look that you can’t quite place before replying.  
_“Bah,_ you and I are both aware that luck is an incalculable fallacy, of which those with lesser intellect rely on to guard their inferiority,” he grumbles. 

…

The match proceeds, with several teams falling in the first few minutes. Each of Caustic’s setups are met with mixed success; the ring continually pushes his team to relocate. A firefight breaks out, and their fortitude holds. The last survivor of the opposing team trembles behind their gold knockdown shield as Caustic moves in with a malicious look. He grips a large sledge hammer with both hands, winding up to smash into them. You watch the viewing screen with rapt attention, heavily anticipating the coming grisly scene. You hear the pulsating of your heartbeat in your ears as he swings back.

Instantaneously, a Wraith portal opens behind him, and the momentum of his swing sends him reeling back into it, teleporting him from the scene. _Oh shit, they’re getting third teamed._ The camera follows to the location of the other portal where Caustic promptly takes one, two, three shots from a Mastiff and falls over, defeated. The other group swiftly moves in, overtaking the still-healing, under-manned squad. _Team Eliminated._

_____________________________________________________________________________________

You rush to MedBay to meet with the just-fallen team. Your research demands you do an immediate interview, but your own intentions spur you as well. You hear a loud roar before making it into the room proper, followed by a _CLANG_ of what you imagine is hurled medical equipment. The bellowing voice is undoubtedly Caustic’s, but you continue forward, your curiosity overriding the fear you might otherwise have for the situation.

 _“No, I HAD them!”_ he yelled. “But that...shadow of a woman robbed me of my kill!” A scared looking Mirage crouched behind an infirmary bed, looking at his teammate, and Pathfinder stood obliviously in front of it.  
“It is okay, friend. Maybe next time you’ll do really good.” You stare in shock with your mouth agape, highly aware that the robot would have just signed his death wish, were weapons allowed on the ship. Mirage looks to you, straightening up slightly at the realized company.  
“Well this was an unfor- unfr- unfortual- un… a bad situation,” he brushes his hair back, “but… let’s put on a nice face for visitors. I take it you’re a concerned member of my fan club?” Caustic looks away from him, scoffing.  
“Actually, I’m a doctor. I’m here to run some tests on you since you died. In particular,” you point to the scientist, _“you,_ since your death had a finisher connected to it.”

His expression darkens, and angrily makes his way towards you at a speed that surprises you. He grabs at your wrist, pulling you towards the examination room. Mirage starts to protest, but Caustic whips around and hits him with a death stare that shuts the younger Legend up. You give Mirage a reassuring wave-off to indicate that you’re okay, and he sits down on the cot.

…

Caustic’s grip is tight on your forearm, and you struggle against it, but follow him nonetheless. He slams the door shut after pushing you inside, and stands menacingly between you and the exit.

“Really, Cau-?!” is all you can get out before he grabs you by the face, similar to how he had when you first met. A spark inside you flickers.  
“Perhaps I did not make myself clear enough upon our initial introduction,” he growled. “You should _only_ refer to me as _‘Dr. Caustic’,_ and... perhaps you need reminding of _who is observing whom.”_ He brings his hand down to your throat and you panic. You feel a familiar twisting sensation in your gut that triggers your body to rapidly heat up. Your pupils dilate, and your breathing becomes shallow beneath his grip. He smiles grimly.  
“My, you _are_ fascinating. Even now... you’re fully aware of just how unequal we are.” he chuckles. You feel yourself getting wetter as he berates you.  
“Aren’t you the least bit ashamed? To be handled like this,” he squeezes your neck a little tighter, “or is this what you long for?” You don’t verbally respond, the lack of blood circulating to your head clouds your mind, adding a different layer of euphoria. He lets you go, and your knees collapse.  
“C-” the first consonant barely escapes your lips before he gives a sharp tug at your hair. “Dr. Caustic…”  
“Better.” His voice sounds pleased. “Now tell me, do you fantasize about that sort of thing when you’re watching me kill? Do you linger on those moments, as I do?” Your face flushes a bright red. _How could he possibly know about that??_  
“Or perhaps…” he shifts his clothing, pulling out a stiff erection, and your eyes widen. He gives it a few languid strokes. “Perhaps _this_ is what comes to mind?”

You take time to admire his cock - its slightly larger size and more than impressive thickness look rather proportional in his grip. You open your mouth and lean forward to lick it, but he bats your tongue with the head before pulling it away. A string of precum trails from your mouth where his dick made contact.  
“Patience… just a taste is all you need.” his low voice coos at you, and you melt at the almost-sweet tone. He waits a moment, and you squirm with anticipation.  
“P-please…” you whisper.  
“Hmm? What was that, my little test subject?” he taunts.  
“Please! Please let me taste your dick, Dr. Caustic.” You stick out your tongue longingly.  
“Such a willing subject.” he hums, placing the tip of his cock to your lips and parting them slightly. With his other hand, he brushes back a strand of hair from your face, then weaves his fingers into your hair before twisting them into a firm grip. “And an inevitable outcome.” 

He thrusts into your mouth, causing you to gag as the full length of his member pushes towards the back of your throat. He holds you there, forcing you to relax around him. He lets out a faint sigh, bottoming out and then pulling back to look at your face. You have a lewd, weary, and expectant expression that he seems satisfied with. He pushes back in, slower this time, seeming to relish the warm sensation of being swallowed so readily by you. Your jaw pops slightly to accommodate his girth, and you inhale his musky scent as he begins to fuck your mouth in earnest.  
_“That’s right,”_ he hisses. _“Take a deep breath.”_

He guides your head to rhythmically bob back and forth, your tongue pressing up to slide along and taste his shaft. He coolly looks down at you, and you ache by how disconnected he’s acting. You reach to touch yourself, and he doesn’t protest.  
“Is this the experience you’ve been craving?” he taunts, “or perhaps you desire something more… _visceral?”_ Terrible, exciting images flash by, and you moan with your mouth full. You could just die. His pace grows more aggressive, but his movements never stray from a perfect repetition. You don’t know how long this goes on for, and, frankly, you don’t care. 

Caustic’s pace is unrelenting. He grunts, and you can tell he’s close to cumming. You obediently wrap your lips around him to take his load. His knuckles whiten as he grips your hair tighter, his hips thrusting into you violently. The pull on your scalp stings, and your eyes water as you choke to take him in, but the pain and urgency of it fills you with a deep pleasure that floods your stomach.  
Your hands crudely work at your sex, plunging in and out, trying to match his demanding pace. He groans and you feel him swell in your mouth. Your eyes widen, but you breathe in through your nose and keep your mouth closed to take in spurt after spurt, as he feeds it to you. The sheer volume of it is overwhelming, and with a wet _pop,_ his dick springs out of your filled mouth, shooting a thick arc of cum that lands on your face and chest.

“Clean yourself up.” He readjusts his gear, neatly tucking himself away, and you see he still has smears of blood across his torso. Your heart throbs at the sight. He gives you another look over, content at his work. "This was… enlightening," he murmurs, and leaves the room.

You return to MedBay after freshening up, and Mirage and Pathfinder - among other competitors - are still there.  
“Hey, doc, have you been crying?” Mirage questions. “Listen, I know Caustic can be a little inti- initia- intermu- s-scary… But don’t let him be too rough on you, okay?” He winks and gives you the finger guns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!~ This chapter is definitely not "romantic", but hopefully you can enjoy it xoxo♡♡  
> *I promise I released this on 2/14, but I edited a typo later;;;


	4. Short Fuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Legends are brought together to have a celebration for the addition of a new competitor. Caustic dislikes these mandatory publicity stunts and sets up in the back of the bar. Fuse pushes his buttons by chatting you up. Fairly SFW chapter.

An influx of busy work came in the following weeks after Salvo officially joined the Syndicate. A number of complications arose when an unidentified terrorist group bombed the new Legend’s public opening ceremony, resulting in numerous deaths and the partial destruction of King’s Canyon. Rumors are swirling around about anti-unification sentiment from dangerous Salvonian globalists, but the higher ups insist cooperation from both parties has taken priority in the merge. You worry that further game interruption will affect your research, but get assured that matches will continue to go ahead as planned, wreckage and all. 

On a more personal note, you've had a few opportunities, but lacked the courage to bring up your little post-game tryst to your lab partner. Based on his nonchalant demeanor the days following, you assume that the two of you aren’t exactly in a defined relationship. You understand that sort of thing would heavily complicate both of your work environments; you shake your head. With a man like Dr. Caustic - you’re unsure if someone like that is even capable of romantic affection. The idea that you might’ve become emotionally invested in his attention - something with less-than no guarantee - bothers you, so you try to rationalize it as a purely physical attraction. Still, you catch yourself sneaking hopeful furtive glances at him, only to see him fully invested in another chemistry project. 

You sigh. The normally cool lab is slightly warmer due to whatever he’s been working on lately, and the usual chemical smell has been replaced by something pleasant but difficult to place. The change in ambience is almost nice if you disregard the looming sense of anxiety. You discard your lab coat and roll up your sleeves before resuming your video documentation work from last week’s game. Your director has been grilling you about not getting proper post-match interview material yet, but hasn't pushed the matter too much after hearing from Elliot Witt that your eyes were red, presumably from crying, after meeting with Caustic after their defeat in the first week of your assignment.  
You feel bad about going along with Mirage’s inadvertent lie, but things are easier this way. You don’t want to risk getting on Dr. Caustic’s bad side, ruining your chances of continuing whatever the hell was going on there, nor did you want him to expose your less than professional tendencies. You absentmindedly gaze at the screen, not really processing the image of Octane gleefully and continuously stomping on a downed opponent’s face.

“Doctor B-” You jerk away from your daydream, and look up to see Caustic standing to your side. Surprisingly, his mask is off, and you can see his full face, which is rather rare when he’s working on something. Instead, he has a pair of glasses on which he looks down at you from. He looks mature in a different way than normal - more casual, almost approachable. Almost. He carefully holds a test tube of slightly pinkish, semi-transparent liquid.  
“Yes, Dr. Caustic?”  
“I am currently working on a new solution, and need living test subjects. Perhaps you-” _BUZZ_ \- a loud notification registers on your holoscreen.  
“I’m so sorry, one second,” you apologize, “This one is urgent.” He nods reluctantly. Reading over the message, you frown. You close the mail screen and look back to your lab partner. “My boss wants me to interview the new Legend before his first match, but I haven’t the faintest clue how to get into contact with him.” You rest your chin in your hand and begin to mutter incoherently to yourself. After a long while, Caustic clears his throat.

_“Another time then.”_ You look up, startled to see him still standing there. Typically, others tire of your tendency to get lost in your work, so to see the scientist patiently waiting takes you by surprise. He nods and turns to leave, but you reach out to pull his sleeve. He freezes.  
“I’m sorry, it’s just- I wouldn’t mind helping, but my work...” you wonder if you should tell him about the pressure you’re facing from your director concerning your other assignment, but decide against it. “Do you… know how I could find another Legend on such short notice?” You clap your hands together and put on your best cute pleading face. Caustic looks vaguely irritated and turns to leave again, but then pauses.

“We have a mandatory get-together coming up at Mr. Witt’s bar,” he looks back at you, and says Mirage’s last name with some contempt. “I detest attending, but the higher ups insist on cooperation for publicity sake.” Your expression brightens.  
“Then maybe I-!”  
“Of course, it is invite only,” he says matter-of-factly, hinting that he has no intention of bringing you along. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

You decide to take a walk around the building to clear your head and run through your options. It seems like a dead end to continue bothering Caustic about Mirage’s get-together, but what else can you do? You consider asking your boss about it, but the idea of asking for permission to attend what is essentially an exclusive big name party “for work” doesn’t sound viable either. Of course, getting an interview at the drop ship terminal slightly before the match is an option, but that would require once again delaying your pregame data collection - another pressing issue.

You continue your excursion down the Paquette Wing, fiddling with the notes on your phone until - _wham._ As you tumble backwards, you feel a strange, weightless sensation push you upwards. Back on your feet, a woman with bright ginger hair smiles at you. A faint blue glow illuminates her, the source of which is behind you. She bends over to pick up and then pocket the small white device.  
“Y’know, we got ta stop meetin’ like this. Though I s’pose we are even now,” Horizon quips.  
“Hi! Right, sorry...” You still feel a little taken aback from experiencing reverse gravity, but your scientific mind is fascinated by it too. “Work stuff.” You hold up your cellphone with an apologetic shrug. She laughs.  
“Yer certainly not the only one - I’m workin’ on- och!” She bolts upright. “Sorry dearie, but I haven’ got the time right now! Listen I’m sorry I haven’ been able to stop by.”  
“It’s okay, Dr. Somers,” you try to reassure her. You can’t imagine that competing in the games and making time for research is an easy task. “We could walk and talk? If you’d like, that is.” She seems surprised at your offer, but nods enthusiastically. 

The two of you walk and make cheerful small talk down to the main office, where she picks up an important-looking garment bag from the front desk.  
“Like I was sayin’, dearie,” she huffs a dreamy-sounding sigh and drapes the bag over her crossed arms. “It’s hard to make time with the Syndicate schedule runnin’ me to the moon and back - hypothetically a’ course.”  
“I can relate. My director is _not_ happy right now.” You exhale and pinch the bridge of your nose. “And it feels like my days off are making up for lost sleep more than anything else. Not like I have big plans or anything... but letting loose once in a while might be nice.” Horizon nods for a moment before perking up, seeming to register something.  
“I dunno if you’re one for a ‘night on the town’ per se...It’s technically a work thing, but I’m allowed to bring a guest, and I don’t exactly have anyone else in mind.” She looks almost melancholy for a moment before brightening up again, and pats the bag draped over her arm. “They picked me outfit an everythin’. Free drinks, an’ we can do some catching up.”  
“Y-yes, I’d love that!” you say, an apparent look of shock on your face. A solution has neatly dropped into your lap. “Could you give me the details? Here’s my information.” You hastily pull up and offer your contact info on your phone, and Horizon copies it, in return providing you her own along with the address and date.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

You arrive at Mirage’s bar late in the evening - it looks pretty busy, with fashionable-looking people making their way in and out of the neon-decorated entrance. A menacing looking bouncer stands at the doorway, checking a long queue of people waiting outside as a drum-heavy rhythm plays overhead. You tastefully ruffle your hair and fix the collar of your shirt - a thin, silky black piece that you used to wear on your nights out during medical school. You weren’t sure what to wear to this event, but recalled Horizon mentioning a “little number” work had picked out for her, so you decided to dress up and spend some extra time getting ready, just in case.  
You look around, but it’s quite crowded and you have a hard time focusing with all the visual and auditory stimulation. Just then, you feel a tap on your shoulder. You look, and Horizon is beaming back at you. She’s wearing a fitted, long-sleeved, dark blue dress that contrasts the warmth of her hair and skin nicely. It’s a bit more conservative than some of the other nearby outfits, but not in an off-putting way.  
“Wow, Dr. Somers… you look nice,” you say appreciatively. “So different from the…” you make a sweeping gesture at yourself.  
“Astronaut suit? Lab coat?” she laughs and the little motion causes the fabric of her outfit to shimmer against the venue’s colored lights. “And please, call me Mary.”  
“Yes, those. Mary.” You smile, happy the scientist is able to connect your sometimes disjointed thoughts. She loops her arm around yours, pulling you past the line to get inside.  
“On we go then, love.”

Inside, the music is almost indecipherable in conjunction with the plethora of conversations happening around you. You manage to make your way to the bar, spotting several Mirage clones entertaining guests with dance moves and tricks. The two of you order drinks, and look out to the floor to play a game of I Spy in hopes of finding the others. Horizon hints to a figure with radioactive blonde hair in a green print streetwear jacket and green-tinted glasses, which you recognize as Octavio Silva, bouncing around an exasperated looking Ajay Che, wearing a cutesy blush-colored romper. You return by pointing out Loba Andrade, dressed in a slinky red cocktail dress, ignoring several unsubtle onlookers surrounding her.  
“I wonder what it’s like, commanding attention like that,” you say, taking a sip of your bright magenta drink. Horizon laughs.  
“Yer not so bad yerself. A couple a folks have been looking this way.” You blush and nudge her, shaking your head. “It’s true! Ye look _dark_ and kinda _mysterious,”_ she accentuates her voice in a wavy tone at the last part and laughs. You can’t help but join her, and the two of you go back and forth mocking hypothetical would-be suitors.

“Mary, I’m really glad we could do this,” you say, coming down from your giggling fit. “To be honest, I’ve been feeling kind of lonely from work lately.” Horizon goes quiet for a moment.  
“I really did mean to visit,” she whispers. “But Natalie- er, Wattson - mentioned somethin’ that had me... concerned.”  
“Wattson did?”  
“Mmhm, about…” She nervously looks out at the floor, and her eyes catch a glimpse of something, then widen. “Speak a the devil…” Your eyes follow hers. 

In a dimly lit, uncrowded corner, you spy Caustic sitting at his own table. He’s wearing a black turtleneck underneath a well-tailored jacket and the same glasses he wore in the lab. He looks… handsome, but out of place. Despite the sophisticated getup, he emanates a deeply negative _‘do not talk to me’_ aura. A crowded bar - one run by Mirage, no less - isn’t his locale of choice, and it shows. 

“Excuse me, dearie, I just remembered: I have to find... someone important. Do ya wannae come along - somewhere... else, maybe?” Horizon looks uncomfortable, but doesn’t outright vocalize what’s on her mind.  
“Actually,” you stir your drink nervously, “I was hoping to catch a conversation with the new Legend, tonight. Something for work.” Her eyes dart back to the corner of the bar for a second, but you can tell she’s trying to respect your decision.  
“Call me when you’re done fer the night, then,” she squeezes your hand reassuringly, “or jus’ because.” She looks at you hesitantly before she gets up from where the two of you have been sitting, hugs you, and leaves.

And like that, you’re left alone at the bar. You peek over at the glowering scientist again, and to your alarm, he’s staring intently at you. You give a small wave to your lab mate as your eyes meet from across the room, but he looks down and busily occupies himself with the glass in his hand. You frown, feeling left out by another one of the few people you can sort of claim to know here. Then again, maybe you don’t know Caustic that well at all. You sip at your drink, looking around for the guest of honor, thinking it’s about time to start the work portion of your night. It’s less lively now than when you first came in, but the sensory overload still makes it near impossible to focus on much else besides staying grounded. You run your hands through your hair, feeling somewhat deflated. That is, until you hear a heavy _Clank_ on the bar top next to you. 

“Now aren't you justa bloody beauty? Didn't know they came this fine in the Outlands.” the stranger eyes you over and leans in with a smile, having casually put the elbow of his metal arm on the counter. “Walter ‘Fuse’ Fitzroy, at ya bloody service,” he says loudly with a wink. You blush at his words, not used to being complimented in such a straightforward manner. From the corner or your vision, you see an overhearing Caustic roll his eyes, but he makes no motion to intervene. Despite feeling flattered by the new Legend, you feel a twinge of disappointment from the lack of response from the scientist.  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fitzroy. Parker Barnes,” you say, gesturing to yourself. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.” You’re referring to his work profile, but that’s not exactly small talk. He makes a small, near undetectable face at being called _Mr. Fitzroy._  
“Pleasure’s all mine, darlin’,” he whistles, conspicuously looking you up and down. “All interestin’ things I hope.”  
“You know how to make an entrance, that’s for sure.” Maybe it’s the alcohol or nightlife ambience, but you’re having an unusual amount of fun going back and forth like this. “And a decent first impression.” 

Talking with him feels uncomplicated and fun. You ask him a few questions about his fighting experience in Salvo’s Bonecage, and he gives you straightforward answers peppered with humorous commentary about past opponents.

“Are you at all concerned about killing people in the Apex Games? Or dying?” You twirl around the contents of a wine glass. This counts as an interview, right? “From what I understand, it’s a... _unique_ experience.”  
“Naah, just a way a life. Not too different from what I was doin’ before: breakin’ bones and breakin’ hearts, five decades running.”  
“Five, you say?” You are well aware of the Legend’s age, but make a point to wave it in his face, so to speak.  
“Is that… alright with you?” His voice lowers. He tries to keep the same casual tone from before, but you can tell he sounds legitimately concerned.  
“No problem at all,” you offer a soft smile. “I look young for my age too, so I can’t fault you for being worried.”  
“Oh really?” he says, relieved. “Then you’re--?”  
“That,” you flash a grin, “is a secret.” It’s true - you finished your doctorate fairly early, but you aren’t fresh out of med school.  
“So what’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ here?” A notably more relaxed Fuse switches back to lighter conversation, leaning closer when he speaks. He brushes his non-bionic hand against your arm, causing you to blush.  
“D-didn’t I tell you? I study Thanatology at the Syndicate Center and-” your words trail off mid-sentence as you notice the arrival of a familiar ominous presence. 

Caustic sidles up to the spot next to you at the bar without making eye contact, placing down his empty glass and motioning to a shimmering blue decoy for a refill. On your other side, you look to Fuse, who returns your look, and then his face seems to lighten up with a devious looking smirk. He leans forward to greet the other Legend.  
“Why hell--”  
“Do _not_ assume we are on amiable speaking terms, Salvonian,” Caustic cuts him short in a sour note.  
“Well I’ll bloody be,” Fuse snorts, and holds up his beer glass in a salute with his free hand. “I’m just here for a laugh and a good time. You should try it, ay?”  
“I am well aware, Mr. Fitzroy.” Caustic eyes your arm, still being touched by Fuse, then continues. “Discretion does not seem to be your strong suit.” Fuse lets out a loud, short laugh in response.  
“I wasn’t born to be subtle, mate,” he says this and winks twice - once at the other Legend and then at you. You poorly suppress a giggle, earning you another leer from Caustic.  
_“So it seems.”_ He seems grumpier than usual. Mirage’s decoy comes back with Caustic’s refill, which he takes a hard gulp of. Fuse lets out an impressed whistle.  
“Man after me own heart - among other things.”  
_“Ugh,”_ the scientist responds in a disapproving tone. Without another word, he departs from the bar, shoving aside an illusory decoy in his way. You look on, but continue to chat with Fuse. However, a slow feeling of unease settles over you.

“Excuse me, Mr. Fitzroy… Walter,” he smiles hearing his first name, “It’s been lovely, but I have somewhere to be.” Fuse looks disappointed, but quickly swaps to an easygoing look.  
“Anytime you wanna talk to ol’ Fusey again, well, we can ‘ave a better time than this.” he gives a toothy grin and you can’t help but return it. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

You traipse out of the bar, feeling a touch inebriated; your cheeks are flushed with a warm but pleasant glow. Tonight felt successful and… nice, for the most part. You remind yourself to check in with Horizon, and send a quick message that you’ll call her before closing your phone. In the black reflection of the screen, you spot a figure behind you, and swirl around in alarm. Caustic stands in close proximity to you. His hand is raised as if he was about to tap you, but he lowers it upon your abrupt change in direction.  
His face is tinted red - a telltale sign of intoxication, but his viridescent eyes are unmistakably calculating. He looks at the thin black material of your shirt, but only for a second before inspecting the state of your hair and face. You feel like a specimen stripped bare and being observed, and the thought unnerves you.  
“Dr. Caustic. How was your night?” your tone is still light, carrying your good mood from earlier.  
“Abhorrent,” he grumbles. “I find these insipid ‘meetings’ a waste of my precious time. Though yours seems to have been... satisfactory.” The two of you stand in silence, and you take the opportunity to look at him fully. The grey jacket he wears fits over his strong shoulders nicely; his otherwise all-black outfit looks very muted against the bright nightlife background, despite very few people hanging around the entrance anymore. You think you would easily have found him more attractive and maybe even approached him, but his posture and general demeanor doesn’t quite serve as a welcoming point. He coughs.

“You know, doctor, usually _I_ am the one observing.” You straighten up, slightly embarrassed at your lack of subtlety. “Which reminds me… I have a new experiment, of which you should be a participant in,” he wasn't asking.  
“An… experiment?” He leans down and whispers so that only you can hear; your heartbeat thunders in your ears.  
“One that I hypothesize you’ll find… _enjoyable.”_ You stare wide into his eyes as he pulls back into your view. He smiles, and it’s unlike any expression that you’ve seen on him before - it’s cruel, amused, and _tempting._ Before you can decide whether this is a good idea, you close your eyes and instinctively lean in closer to him, but he stops you by grabbing your shoulders.  
“Not tonight, my little test subject.” His grip on you intensifies briefly as he takes a sharp breath. “But your enthusiasm has been noted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2/25~ Happy Birthday, Alexander!~♡ This past week I've been swamped with tests, but I really wanted to release a chapter for his b-day;>> I'm going to spend today writing the next NSFW addition and getting excited for the (hinted) Caustic town takeover coming up. Thanks for reading!


End file.
